


Grace - Prologue

by Venchaser



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Begin 1940s, Doctor Stiles, England - Freeform, First Time, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, John Stilinksi works for the Ministry, Late 1930s, M/M, Oneshot, Pre-War Universe, Quirky Lydia, Rich Boy Stiles, Romance, Soldier Derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:23:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2586362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venchaser/pseuds/Venchaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twoshot - Prologue (Complete) . It is the 1939, the world is on the brink of a second World War. Stiles is the son of a wealthy high ranking ministry official. His friend and childhood protector Derek Hale is off to the same medical school as he is, with the financial help of his own father, something Stiles is not too happy about, though he won't admit it to himself that there might be feelings involved. Yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like writing a story, set just before World War II. Stiles, who is confused and Derek who knew all along. A story about true love. If you guys like it, I might write a full fic, not just a one shot. I have some ideas where this story could go. 
> 
> For those who want a soundtrack while listening to this fanfiction: http://8tracks.com/anon-100000133872101/grace  
> 

Summer. Even though it was still early in the day, it was already hot outside. Scorching even. The air was thick and humid. Cicadas cried their song. Brilliantly and ruthlessly, the sun shone, all alone in the bright, pure sky, untouched by boisterous clouds. In the middle of immense garden of the manor, near a grand stone fountain, Stiles was lying on his back, hands supporting his head, the grass tickling his arms and the soles of his feet, listening to the wind that danced between the vibrant leaves and the splattering water. Curling his toes, digging in the grass and earth, he laid there contently. He could have easily sought refuge from the unrelenting sun in the cooling shadows of the trees, but Stiles preferred bathing in the warm streams of light from that blazing star.

Mosquitoes gathered above the water of the lake to the great joy of the resident frogs. Maybe I should go for a walk in the woods, he thought, tapping his foot rhythmically.

‘Sir,’ announced a butler who seemingly materialized out of nowhere, spooking him out of his train of thought. ‘Miss Martin has come to visit. Shall I bring her here?’

Stiles pondered, tilting his head towards the servant for a moment, his eyes squinting because of the violent rays. He lifted himself up with a great sigh, several strands of grass stuck to the back of his white, linen shirt.

‘No, no. That won’t be necessary. I shall join her. Where is she now?’

‘Currently in the drawing room, sir.’

‘Very well.’ Stiles, barefoot, crossed the garden with a steady pace. Surprise visits from Lydia were rare, and if she did visit out of the blue, there was usually a good reason. A scandalous rumour, news from a foreign land, not yet picked up by the papers. In other words, Stiles was thrilled to hear her reason of visiting.

Upon ascending the stone staircases to the manor, he cursed himself for not bringing any shoes, the stones were boiling. Once inside, even here there was no escaping the warmth of the summer’s day, he quickly made his way to the drawing room. There, Lydia was sitting on one of the sofas, engrossed in a book, _Middlemarch_.

Both Stiles and Lydia were what you would call odd ducks. Lydia fitted in this category because of endless thirst for knowledge and high ambitions, which were deemed ‘unsuitable’, as John Stilinksi once had put it, for a woman. Stiles didn’t care much for the narrow-minded views of his father. Stiles also had some eccentric opinions and tastes.

‘And to what do I owe this pleasure?’ Stiles mused amusedly.

Lydia gracefully traced the words on the page with a long finger, reading the last paragraph before closing the book and turning her attention towards her friend.

‘Ah, curious as always. Nice to see you too, Stiles. Well, other than the whispers of a coming war, I pray to God they are just that, I felt an urge to just visit you.’ Her eyes glistened with a secret. ‘One does not always have a reason to visit old friends.’

‘Are you so sure? I know you better than that, Lydia. Spill it, what brings you here?’ Stiles asked faux-suspicious.

‘Oh, you’re no fun! I just came here to check on your progress with a certain gardener slash college buddy.’

Stiles eyes shot wide open, and rushed to the doors to close them. He then checked the windows, glancing outside, to see if no one stood underneath.

‘Lydia!’ he said, shocked. ‘Be careful what you say around here! What if someone heard you?’

‘Relax. Then they’d simply assume think you and Derek are friends. I’m careful in my formulation of things.’ She waved her hand, as if she was trying to shoo away Stiles little display of anxiety.

Derek Hale was the son of one of the servants working at the Stilinksi manor. His mother, Talia, worked in the kitchen; she was an excellent cook, and Stiles was quite fond of her. Ever since Stiles’s mother, a woman coming from a long line of nobility, died, she had stepped up and became, next to the household’s cook, his surrogate mother. His father had a high-ranking position at the ministry, and, to his own regret, had little time for his son. And so, Stiles was raised by the maid for the better part of his childhood. Incidentally, she had a biological son, Derek. The two grew up together and were as thick as thieves. But then, around puberty, the two began to grow apart. It really was Stiles who distanced himself. Both John and Talia found this strange, but didn’t comment on it, thinking it was one of the many quirks that were typical of Stiles.

Luckily, Derek gave him the space Stiles desperately needed and didn’t read anything into it. The problem was, though, that Derek was always around Stiles, at his home, even at university. Derek, lacking the financial needs to go to university, was supported by scholarships and John Stilinksi. Talia was grateful for this, but Derek felt a certain guilt, he was indebted to John, so he offered to take on more chores around the house. This meant Stiles would bump into Derek all the time, awkward bump-ins and excuses included. His presence was intoxicating to Stiles as Derek always managed to sweep him off his feet with the most basic things: asking a question, returning a book, just being around. He tried to ignore Derek, supress his feelings, but it was hard.

Stiles trusted Lydia, so he confined in her his secret: he had feelings for Derek. What kind of feelings? He did not know. Lydia, however, already had a few hypotheses she wisely kept to herself.

Stiles and Lydia talked for a while, gossiping a bit, discussing books they had read recently or plays that had seen. Lydia currently was seeing a wealthy fellow, Jordan Parrish, and so she described him to Stiles. Stiles said Parrish sounded wonderful, and that he was looking forward meeting him.

‘So I can expect a wedding invitation any day now!’ he said jokingly.

A maid brought some iced tea and biscuits, which they drank thirstily and munched on happily.

‘Have you talked to Derek yet? Ignoring him won’t help you one bit.’

‘I have not, and will not. Perhaps it’s just a phase, Lydia. I’m just confused, that’s all. It’s the heat. Nothing more. Just the heat.’ Stiles hissed.

‘You keep telling yourself that, but can you really blame the heat for, what, five years now? Have you considered you just _like_ him?’ she whispered.

Stiles ignored Lydia’s implication and turned his back to her, looking outside the window, focussing on a far-off figure tending the hedges.

‘Would you care for some more tea?’ he said in a controlled, distant voice.

‘No, I believe I will take my leave. I promised Allison I’d go to London with her tomorrow for the weekend and I still have to pack some things.’

‘That’s a shame, I would’ve loved to have chatted some more with you. It’s excellent outside. We could have had a little picnic outside.’ Stiles replied, genuinely sad.

‘You think so? Too hot for me. I burn so easily.’ She tapped with the tip of the white umbrella against her heel and rose, brushing her dress straight again.

‘Well, then, take care, Stiles. And don’t forget what I said.’ She whispered in his ear.

Stiles grabbed her shoulders and gave her a long, stern look, but there was also something else mixed in that stare. Confusion? Sadness? She couldn’t quite figure it out. His serious appearance, however, quickly turned in a playful, cheeky grin.

‘Do get me something when you’re in London! A little hint, I like sweets!’

‘Of course I will!’ she laughed.

Stiles walked her to the door, and watched her dress wave in the tentative wind as she strolled away.

The door closed, echoing throughout the marble hall, and Stiles, unsure what to do next, stood still for a moment, relishing the cool touch of the marble floor against his bare feet. While he stood there, wondering, lost in thought, his father descended from the staircase.

‘Hello, Stiles. What are you doing here? I thought I heard you with a guest?’

‘Hi, dad. Nothing, really, just thinking. Lydia was here a moment ago, but she left already.’

‘Ah, yes. Lydia.’ A frown darkened his face. ‘Odd girl. Anyway, I wanted to have a word with you. I have to go to the ministry. Some urgent business came up. I will probably be home late, I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay,’ I’m used to it, Stiles almost added.

‘You can invite Derek for dinner, if you like. I know you dislike having dinner alone.’

Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and bowed his head. ‘Maybe.’

John Stilinksi took a deep breath, wondering why his son had so much trouble dealing with Derek.

‘Derek is a good man, son. He is an honest worker and a diligent student. You could give him some slack. I wouldn’t have helped him into Cambridge if I thought otherwise.’

Stiles painted a fake smile on his face. ‘Naturally, father.’

His father looked down, frowning disapprovingly at the smudged feet. ‘You should wear at least some shoes, Stiles. You’ll dirty the house.’

‘I will.’ He said, but I won’t, he thought.

‘Well, I’m off.’ A curt nod and his father disappeared through the door.

Stiles waited a moment before he ran up the stairs to the private library. He felt like reading a book, perhaps Virginia Woolf. The curtains were closed, yet a single light penetrated the heavy fabric through a minor split, lighting the room enough so that he could easily read the titles on the book spines. Every sound was muffled, and here, too, the air was thick and suffocating. He dove into the sea of tomes and volumes, searching for the one book that fitted his current mood.

Once he found the right hardback, _Orlando_ , he returned downstairs, striding down the long corridors, through the kitchen, grabbing an apple for along the way. Once outside, he was greeted by a hot blast of air. He covered his eyes with one hand, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sun, which seemed to have intensified. The sunlight stung him, the agreeable warmth which he had felt maybe an hour ago had now been replaced by a painful prickling.

Unable to stand the sensation, he decided to go lie down under some tree. On his way to his favourite spot, just near the artificial lake, he passed the fountain, paused, carefully placed his items on the ridge, and took a big scoop of water and splashed his face. The iridescent surface reflected a distorted copy of himself. He grazed the surface with the palm of his hand, destroying the mirror image. The water felt so cold and refreshing, he scooped up some more water, this time with both hands, splashing the clear liquid all over himself. He repeated this process several times until the scorching feeling on his skin had disappeared. His shirt was soaked, translucent and sticking against his subtly defined chest. His dark, brown hair was slicked back, crystal droplets gathered at the ends of his hair and dripped down.

He wiped his hand dry on his trousers and picked up his apple and book. When he stood up, he noticed the man he had seen from the drawing room. His eyes met briefly with a pair of hazel eyes across the fountain. It was Derek, his sun-kissed skin glistening with sweat, covered in dirt, a twig stuck in his black hair, in the middle of carrying gardening tools towards his wheelbarrow. They gazed at each other for a moment. Derek raised his hand and smiled politely. Stiles averted his eyes and pivoted on his heel, ready to proudly breeze towards the protecting shadows of the trees. Yet his heart was racing, he thought the summer’s day to be the cause. He felt annoyed by Derek’s gesture. Who did he think he was? He was still a servant, they _really_ belonged to different social circles. When you’re a kid, that stuff doesn’t matter, but now it does.

Truth is, everything Derek lately did managed to get under his skin. It infuriated him that Derek whistled when he trimmed the hedges, or the way his head slightly cocked to the left when he had a conversation with his father, or the way he would rest under a tree after a long day of work. The way he raised his eyebrows in surprise, or the slight curve of his lips when he smiled. It annoyed him that when he walked down the halls at Cambridge, Derek was there too. It irked him to no end, and he couldn’t say why.

‘Hey, Stiles, wait up!’ Derek shouted. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked once he had caught up, pointing at the book.

‘Nothing special, just Virginia Woolf.’ Stiles replied distantly.

‘Oh, c’mon, let me have a look.’ Derek tried to snatch the book out of his hand, unsuccessfully. They twirled around each other, Stiles trying to keep the book away from Derek.

‘Cut it out. Let go, Der.’ Stiles cried, unable to supress a little laugh, secretly enjoying their little mock-fight.

Suddenly, Stiles felt the ridge of the fountain on the back of his knees, before he could tell Derek to stop, he lunged forward, a final attempt to seize the book. They collided, the weight of Derek on him made him lose his balance. Stiles toppled backwards and both men fell into the fountain.

Completely submerged in the icy water felt like a shock. Stiles came up for air, and gasped. Woolf’s _Orlando_ floated just in front on his nose, drenched and ruined.

‘You… You… You… You… Idiot! That was my favourite book! Have you any idea what you did?! You ruined it! That was my only copy!’

Derek just laughed, spitting a spray of water towards Stiles. ‘Well, looks like you’ll have to buy a new one.’

Stiles let out a loud, indignant cry of frustration. He raised himself out of the fountain, water cascading down his body, his wet clothes clinging to his body. Derek was silent, studied Stiles carefully, noting how he could see every mole on the other’s body through the soaked shirt, the delicate muscle definition, his rose-pink budded nipples, his slender thighs, those long legs. Stiles stormed off towards the trees, leaving Derek alone in the water, occupied with the sensual image of the dripping, young man.

*

Derek always felt he was indebted to John Stilinksi in more than one way. He provided him and his mother a cottage on the estate’s grounds, free of charge. He offered his mother a more than decent pay and respected her. He also helped Derek to get in the medical school, even paying for a large part of the tuition the scholarship failed to cover. But most of all, he was indebted that John Stilinksi had created such a fine young man as Stiles.

‘I’m doing the hedges today, mom.’ Derek said in the early morning. His mother was already busy and gave him a vague reply. He kissed her forehead, she smiled, and left for the tool shack, near the cottage. Dew still covered the grass and trees, and the sun just began to rise, a faint orange coloured the horizon. It was chilly, but that was probably going to change as soon as the sun was up.

Derek began tending the hedges near the gates, and when day had finally begun he noticed, the sunlight in all its glory, he saw Scott on a bicycle. Nearing Derek, Scott slowed down to say hi.

‘Hey Derek, how are you?’

‘Can’t complain, vacation has started, I’m out and about. I’m fine. You?’

‘Oh, I’m excellent! Visiting Allison today. She’s going on a trip tomorrow and I wanted to see her one more time.’

‘Look at you, soon she’ll make an honest man out of you.’

‘Ha, Derek. Sure!’ Derek noticed the faint blush spread on Scott’s face. He always struck Derek as a love-struck puppy.

‘I haven’t seen you in a while. Are you busy?’

‘Well, with all the rumours of an impending war, I’ve been making some preparations.’

‘You mean?’

‘Yes, I’m going to join the army when the time comes.’ This surprised Derek. Scott was perhaps the nicest guy he knew, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly, let alone take up arms to kill a fellow man. It didn’t sit right.

‘What about your education?’ he inquired.

‘I feel it has little to offer.’ Scott replied nonchalantly.

‘But what about Allison? Surely, she wouldn’t want to see you go to war?’

‘I will do my sweetheart and country proud by joining the army, defending my nation. There is no higher honour.’

Derek had his doubt about this opinion. Killing? War? There was already too much violence in the world, and Derek preferred to stay away from that desolate mess as far as possible. That was also the reason he wanted to become a doctor, to relieve the suffering in this world. Stiles, who always was a medic in training, felt the same way, even though neither had said this to one another. They both _knew_.

‘Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to a war.’ he replied lightly.

‘Hmmm.’ What an odd response, Scott wore a rare contemplative expression. ‘Well, I’m off to Allison. See you around!’ and off he went, wiping up some sand dust when he left.

Derek gradually moved down the long lane, attending the bushes and shrubberies. It was almost noon when he saw Lydia coming up the road, carrying a parasol to protect herself from the burning sunlight. He nodded politely, after all, he did not really know Miss Martin that well, only that she was close to Stiles. She smiled back, but her grin carried some meaning, one that Derek failed to grasp. Her enigmatic aura hinted she knew more things than one really should. It intimidated him. He turned his attention back to his work, but a springy voice called his name.

‘Derek, do you have a moment.’

‘Miss Martin! Of course.’ He said, somewhat taken aback in her sudden interest in him.

‘Have you spoken to Stiles, lately?’ she had a curious light in her eyes which reminded him of Stiles, oddly enough.

‘I’m afraid a real conversation hasn’t taken place in quite some time. He is busy with his studies, as am I, and all those chores…’

‘I see. Well, you ought to. I think he’ll be happy. Oh, and don’t worry’

Derek, hesitantly, fumbled with his gloves, glancing down at the bundle of twigs and branches in front of him, not sure what to reply. Even he saw that Stiles was avoiding him, and he wanted to give Stiles space, yet he always wanted things to change.

‘Don’t worry?’ she gave him a short wink. ‘You know what, I believe I will say ‘hi’ later when I see him.’ He affirmed, wiping some sweat of his brow with the gloves.

‘I am certain that’s an excellent idea. Well now. Good day.’ 

He continued working for half an hour, the heat did put a noticeable strain on his efforts, everything went so slow it frustrated him a bit. His stomach grumbled, knowing his work would slow down even more without energy. He opted for a break, maybe drop by the kitchen, say hello to his mother and have a light lunch, or a snack, maybe an apple.

Derek moved quickly through the mansion. He heard noises coming from the drawing room, Stiles’s melodious voice.

‘Ah, Derek,’ said his mother, who just entered the hall. ‘How are you, dear? Shall I fix you a quick meal?’

‘Please.’

‘I’ll be right back, just going to bring Mr Stilinksi his lunch. The poor man, working so hard.’

They ate a sandwich together in a room reserved for the servants. They were the only ones there, all the rest had either already taken their lunch, or were still busy somewhere in or around the immense property.

‘Scott is thinking of joining the army.’ Derek said.

‘Oh my.’ Talia’s expression saddened, a frown that made her appear ten years older. ‘War is never good. Your father also thought he would do his country well by joining the military. Promise me you will never join. And if you see Scott again, try to talk some sense into him. His mother also lost her husband to the atrocities of war. I know her pain.’ Her voice was sad and trembling.

Derek had difficulty swallowing, he hated to see his mother get upset by bad memories from the past. ‘Of course not. And, luckily, I won’t get drafted. Students are usually exempt from being drafted. I have little to worry about, and I will _never_ join out of free will. I will remain here, and if there is going to be a war, I will help the wounded, but I will never fight, mom. As for Scott, I cannot make any promises, I just pray he will come to his senses. But I will try to appeal to him if I see him to reconsider. He has Allison, after all.’

She grabbed his hand, and gave a firm squeeze. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

 

The heat only had gotten worse, and Derek, now busy in the main garden, tried to stay in the shadows. Even the slightest effort made him feel light-headed and dizzy. Perhaps he should wait until it cooled down? He turned to his wheelbarrow, when he saw Stiles, strolling towards the fountain. What happened next, resembled something that you would read about in the ancient myths of the Greeks or Romans. Stiles threw the fountain’s water in the air, basking in its soothing properties. He was like a nymph, nimble and elegant. The little droplets glittered and shimmered like diamonds in the light. He never took his eyes off of the younger man. It was beautiful, so simple were his movements, the arc of the water was elegant.

When Stiles noticed Derek, their eyes met just for a second, Stiles, ready to sprint away, had a haughty look, but it seemed so out of place for him, as if he was wearing a dishonest mask. He raised his hand, saying hi, hoping it would open dialogue, but Stiles had already his back to him, and was walking slowly towards the woods.

‘Hey, Stiles, wait up!’ he shouted. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked once he had caught up, pointing at the book. He knew the book. _Orlando_ , the story about a man who became a woman. Androgyny was an important theme in the book, which Derek thought was interesting and complex. It suited Stiles. Stiles seemed reluctant, reluctant to show his true feelings.

‘Nothing special, just Virginia Woolf.’ Stiles replied distantly.

‘Oh, c’mon, let me have a look.’ Derek tried to snatch the book out of his hand, unsuccessfully. They twirled around each other, Stiles trying to keep the book away from Derek. Derek didn’t really have to intention to snatch the hardback. He only wanted to loosen Stiles a bit up, wake up the playful side of his friend he hadn’t seen in such a long time.

‘Cut it out. Let go, Der.’ Stiles cried, unable to supress a little laugh, secretly enjoying their little mock-fight. It was working! Derek pushed even further. He noticed Stiles was near the fountain’s ridge, with the right amount of force, they would both fall in the water which just recently had been graced by Stiles.

Derek saw the flash of panic in Stiles eyes when he realized they were going to fall in the water. Here I come, Stiles, Derek thought.

And with a huge splash, both were swallowed up by the water. The cold, clear water soothed his dry skin, it felt like heaven. When he came up he was greeted by a pair of furious eyes.

‘You… You… You… You… Idiot! That was my favourite book! Have you any idea what you did?! You ruined it! That was my only copy!’

Derek just laughed, spitting a spray of water towards Stiles. ‘Well, looks like you’ll have to buy a new one.’

Stiles tried to appear angry, but even he couldn’t suppress the faint curve of lips that suggested a smile. He had fun together, which was something both of them hadn’t experienced in a long time. When will he figure it out? Derek thought.

Stiles let out a loud, indignant cry of frustration, which didn’t impress Derek, as he could see right through Stiles’s act. Stiles raised himself out of the fountain, water cascading down his body, his wet clothes clinging to his body. Derek was silent, studied Stiles carefully, noting how he could see every mole on the other’s body through the soaked shirt, the delicate muscle definition, his rose-pink budded nipples, his slender thighs, those long legs. Those delicious lips, water dripping down on them. A warm sensation spread through Derek’s own body, a nice feeling formed in his chest, it felt right and sublime. There also was a sudden rush of blood towards the southern region of his body. He stayed in the water a bit longer, until the arousal had calmed down a bit. He didn’t want to spook Stiles too quickly again. He was planning, however, to go after him the moment his hormones had calmed down a bit. He gazed up at the sky. A single plane flew by, its loud roaring felt ominous and foreboding.

*

‘Ah, that idiot! Why would he do that?’ Stiles wondered out loud. He wasn’t feeling angry though. Sure, Derek had technically ruined his book, which incidentally was one of his favourites, but he didn’t _really_ blame Derek. It was weird. He unbuttoned his linen shirt in order to let it dry a bit. He didn’t want to undress completely; he was a bit too self-conscious for that. He saw a nice tree, a few beams of sunlight near its roots, and judged it the perfect place to rest.

He dug his feet into the resolute earth, the rough sand between his toes. He let out a soft, low moan. He tried to relax, but his mind was pre-occupied with Derek. So, instead of letting his mind wander to places he would rather not visit, he began to name thing out loud that he heard or saw.

‘Earth, sun, air, sky, heaven, insect, wait is that a fly, or a cicada? What am I saying, of course it’s a cicada, or is it a beetle? Hmmmm.’

‘It’s a cicada. Beetles don’t chirp like that.’ Said a confident baritone voice.

‘Derek! Di-.. did you follow me?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Please leave me alone.’

‘I would love to, but I just want to talk to you, Stiles. I miss talking to my good friend.’ Sadness tinted his tone, and his eyes reflected the hurt he felt.

Stiles, using the tree as support, erected himself. He leaned against the bark.

‘Okay. What do you want?’

‘I want you to be honest.’ Better get this over with quickly.

‘What do you mean, honest? I’m always true! Sure, sometimes I steal some sweets from the kitchen, and when Talia asks if I had some, I usually say no. But that’s a little white lie. No harm done.’

‘I wasn’t referring to that.’ Derek let out a chuckle, Stiles was endearing, he thought. He took some steps closer, he stood in front of Stiles.

‘To what then?’ Stiles asked nervously, his breath hitched and his chest, revealed by the unbuttoned shirt was heaving up and down erratically.

Derek planted his one foot between Stiles’s, palm of his hand against the bark, he closed in on his ear and whispered three simple words. Words Stiles had often said to his mother. Three little words that carried such strong, and pure feelings, tears formed in his eyes.

‘How did you know?’ he cried softly. ‘How did you?’

‘Shhh. It’s okay. Derek kissed his cheek tenderly. ‘I _know_ you. Perhaps a bit better than you know yourself. I knew all those years you liked me. I gave you space to figure it out. But I just couldn’t wait anymore.’

‘Derek.. I

Derek pressed himself against Stiles, his leg firmly between his thighs. He felt Stiles’s growing manhood. Stiles fell in his arms, Derek was intoxicating.

‘Derek, I need you.’ They kissed, it was a simple kiss. Innocent and sweet. Derek’s lips were rough and chapped, but it didn’t matter, it was the most wonderful sensation Stiles ever felt. Stiles felt Derek’s large hands roam his chest, the calluses of years of work, rough, felt pleasantly against his skin. He played with his nipple, pinching them, licking them, biting ever so softly. Then, Derek’s fingers trailed his chest, to his belly button.

Derek, experimentally and tentatively, brushed his tongue against Stiles’s lips. Stiles was unsure what to do next. He let his instincts take over. He opened his mouth ever so slightly, and their tongues touched, the moist muscles licked each other. Stiles took another step, sucking slightly on the other’s tongue. Derek groaned contently, the sound aroused Stiles even more, and he deepened the kiss.

Derek’s hand slid down his chest, and paused momentarily at the button of his pants. Words weren’t needed. Stiles looked Derek in the eyes, and that was all he needed. His hands slid in Stiles’s pants, grabbing his throbbing cock, stroking it slowly. Stiles whimpered softly.

The feeling was tantalizing, Stiles bit softly the skin of Derek’s shoulders through the fabric. His nails digging in the other’s strong arms. He moved his hands down too, unbuttoning Derek’s pants. His thick cock already leaked some pre-come and twitched with anticipation and lust. His hand moved gingerly up and down the length. Somehow, he found the sight of Derek’s dick, his black curly pubic hair, delicious. He wanted to taste him.  Stiles kneeled down, stared at Derek’s manhood for a moment and tentatively licked the head. It tasted salty and sweet, he wanted more. He couldn’t get all of Derek in his mouth, gagging slightly.

‘You don’t have to…’ Derek moaned, he was delirious with pleasure and ecstasy. Stiles mouth felt warm. Stiles stopped, looking up. 

‘Out of those pants.’ Derek commanded with a salacious grin. His breath, too, was uneven.

Stiles stepped out of his pants, now only wearing his loosened shirt. Derek placed his hands firmly on Stiles bottom, lifting him up. He squeezed the cheeks, and Stiles cried out in delight. Their kisses grew sloppy, inexperience showed itself, but they didn’t care. They were finally together, all the feelings, passion and frustration built up over the years was being released. And it was heaven. Derek massaged Stiles’s buttocks, his hands spreading the cheeks.

Derek entered Stiles, and Stiles saw the stars and constellations.

‘So tight.’ Derek huffed. ‘Do you like my cock deep inside of you?’

‘Derek, I don’t… I don’t know what to say.’ Stiles muttered, embarrassed.

‘Don’t think, but you don’t have to say anything.’ Derek moaned through the kisses.

Stiles began to move his hips, rocking together with Derek’s rhythm. He soaked Derek in. Derek kept hitting the right, sweet spot, and all he saw was a blissful white. He spread his legs a bit more, trying to increase pleasure even more. Something began to build up in the area of his lower belly, it grew and grew. He was nearing the edge, staring down at an abyss of delight and ecstasy.

‘Derek, I’m going to…’

‘Hold on, I’m almost there.’

Both men cried out as Stiles spilled his come all over himself, Derek came inside him. Derek’s legs trembled and Stiles crumbled like a marionette doll whose cords were cut loose. Derek kissed his earlobe.

‘Are you alright?’

‘I think so.’

‘I love you.’ Those three words again. Stiles and Derek uttered them over and over again. Overflowing with feelings.

They sat there in silence, relishing their company. But that silence was soon to be broken by the howling of airplanes in the distance.

 


	2. Chapter 2

‘Maybe we should go back to the manor.’ Stiles said lazily, his head resting on Derek’s shoulder. They sat underneath a great oak tree. ‘My dad said I could invite you for dinner. He isn’t home anyway. And I’d really like for you to join me.’

‘There’s nothing I want more than to be with you. These last years have been so lonely.’ Derek kissed his forehead. ‘But that’s going to change now. Can you stand?’

‘Yeah,’ Stiles winced a little. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Here, let me help.’ Derek, already on his feet, held his hand out. ‘I do have to put away the gardening tools in the shed first. You go and change clothes, clean yourself up a bit. When do you expect me for dinner?’

‘Come as soon as you can, please. There are so many things I want to ask, so many things I need to tell. I feel like finally found the final piece to my puzzle.’

Derek laughed, the radiance of his smile rivalling that of the sun, which had begun to set. Faint strokes of orange pierced the blue canvas.  

‘See you soon.’

Stiles watched Derek until he was gone. His clothes, although dry now, felt uncomfortable and stiff, not to mention they were stained with green and brown. Walking felt a bit awkward, a slight limp was noticeable, but who would ask questions? He moved through a patch long grass, taking a shortcut to the house. He’d take the servant’s entrance back in. He was almost there when he noticed a couple of butterflies were fluttering around some lavender. Lavender was his mother’s favourite flower, the smell reminded him of her. He picked some, rolling the lilac flower delicately under his nose.

‘Mr Stiles,’ it was Talia Hale, carrying a basket of potatoes. ‘What are you doing there? Your clothes are a mess, darling. What happened?’

‘Oh, Talia, hello! It’s fine, really.’ He said as he was being subjected by her worrying gaze. ‘It’s nothing. I’m fine.’

‘Well, you better change soon then. Your father came back home. He won’t be pleased to see you in this messy state.’

‘He came back? Odd. Yet, you’re right. Oh, Derek will be joining me tonight for dinner. Will that be alright for you?’

‘Definitely. We got enough food to feed an army!’ There was something in the way she moved that Stiles wanted to go in for a hug, but refrained from it. He didn’t want to dirty her clothes.

‘It’s okay, Stiles.’ She put down the basket and opened her arms invitingly. She smelled of vanilla and other spices. ‘Okay, that’s enough. It’s boiling. I don’t want to soak you in my sweat!’ she laughingly said.  ‘Now, be off, little rascal. I still have work to do!’

*

Like an assassin, Stiles crept through the corridors and hallways, carefully avoiding his father, who was somewhere in the house, or so Talia had said. In the hall, he hid behind a pillar, listening carefully for any footsteps, coughing, sneezing, and breathing. Whatever would give away a sign of life. But there was nothing. It was immaculately still. It was actually a bit unsettling. The only thing he heard was the constant ticking or a grand standing clock.

Judging the coast to be clear, he was about to climb the stairs when, ‘Stiles,’ yelled his father.

‘Holy….’ Stiles nearly had a heart-attack.

‘Why are you walking so funny? And what happened to your clothes?! They’re ruined! Is this one of your silly ideas? Are you hurt?’ his father’s voice covered a broad range from concern to anger.

Stiles’s mind panicked, what should he use as an excuse? He didn’t count on running into his father. Where did he even come from? He could never know about what happened between him and Derek. His father would lynch both of them.

‘I fell from a tree.’ He lied, stuttering, clasping onto the staircase railing.

‘This warm weather,’ his father scolded. ‘It almost demands loose morals and behaviour. I saw that Lydia girl earlier, together with a second individual, frolicking in the fields. Such behaviour is not becoming for young people.’

Stiles remained silent, fidgeting with the rim of his rumpled, muddy shirt. He did not agree with his father. Chances are, he’d probably do the same as Lydia. Life was already too short, and there was so much suffering. You were better off enjoying every moment you could grasp. And that is what he wanted to do together with Derek.

‘What are you doing here?’ he carefully asked in an attempt to stop his father’s rant. ‘You said you wouldn’t be home before dinner?’

‘Ah, yes. I forgot some papers, some rather important ones. If you’ll excuse me. And do get changed, Stiles.’  He paused. ‘What’s that smell?’ John Stilinksi’s brow furrowed.

‘Lavender.’ Stiles showed him the flowers he held.

His father turned his head towards the ceiling, a dark shadow cast over his face. ‘I see.’ He left after the remark, climbing the stairs hastily.

Stiles pitied his father, seeing the slight hunch of his shoulder always made him sad. John Stilinksi had a change of character after his wife died. He seemed so bitter ever since he lost his wife. He cared less for everything around him. He still loved his son, and he still made sure his servants were treated fairly, at least that is what Stiles hoped, but there was a lack of vivacity in his life.

Going to his room for new clothes, he followed his father upstairs. The wooden flooring creaked and croaked. The warm, almost damp, air and the dimly lit hall, just a few beams of light made their way through the glass, all made for a rather sombre atmosphere. His father never looked back. Stiles took and deep breath and a sharp turn to his room. He closed his door, noticing how cool his room was. One of the maids, probably Laura, Derek’s sister, had set a ventilator on his desk that was blowing with a low hum. The cool air felt nice. He made a mental note to thank her, even though they rarely _really_ spoke. Derek had two sisters, in fact. Laura and Cora. Both were also servants at the Stilinksi household, yet they didn’t get the preferential treatment like Derek did. Stiles realized his father might have been not supportive of the idea that women should deserve equal opportunities as men did. How different would his father have been if his mother was still here?

First, he laid the lavender carefully on his writing table, the sweet smell filled the room. He then undressed, and opened his wardrobe, revealing a myriad of shirts, pants, socks, undergarments, and shoes. There was also mirror fixed against the back of the closet’s door. Stiles studied love’s marks on his skin, those light bruises, tracing his fingers along their contours. His lips were still swollen and he noticed just a faint trickle of blood. The ghost of Derek’s fingers still burned on his skin, their touch lingering. Stiles closed his eyes, and thought about their intimate contact. His own hands began to explore his body, descending slowly downward. The sensual feeling began to spark again when there was a sudden knock on his door. Reality came screaming back.

‘Just a moment!’ He shouted. He quickly jumped into a pair of pants and seized the first dress-shirt he laid his eyes on. He almost tripped, and cursed under his breath.

‘Stiles? Are you presentable?’ his father asked, his voice sounded muffled through the closed door.

‘Just a moment, dad.’ He fumbled desperately with the buttons of his shirt, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

‘I’m coming in.’ Stiles quickly hid behind the doors of his closet, bumping painfully into some wooden shelves.

‘Still busy changing, sorry.’ He said breathlessly.

‘Ah, that’s fine. Just wanted to say goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow?’ John said.

‘Certainly. Be safe.’ Stiles was still struggling with his buttons.

The moment his father shut the door, Stiles collapsed on the floor, shaking like a leaf. On hands and knees he crawled to his bed, clambered on and yanked the curtains open. He needed fresh air, no matter how warm or sticky. He pushed the window open with one hand and sucked in the twilight. His arms hung loosely out of the window, chin resting on the wooden frame.

‘Stiles?’

He looked down and saw Derek standing just below his window. He was wearing the suit John had given him for his birthday. ‘A man should always look presentable’, his father always said. Seeing Derek, it eased his weary heart, his breath evened out. The trembling stopped. His muscles, strained and tense just a moment ago, now relaxed, were fluid like water.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

‘I am now.’

‘I’m coming up.’

*

‘Why are you crying?’ Derek asked, he apparently had sprinted, because his chest rose violently up and down, and his breath was unsteady.

‘I’m not.’ Stiles sniffed. ‘It’s nothing.’ His eyes were red, yet he managed to put on a brave smile, insisting he was alright. Of course, he was not.

‘Fine,’ Derek said patiently, sitting next to Stiles on his bed. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘My father, Derek, I just realized I can never tell him. What if he gets mad? What if he hurts you? You have your family. Oh God, Derek, what are we doing? Who are we fooling? We’re both men! What will others say? What…’ Stiles spluttered miserably.

‘Hey, calm down. Stiles, those are worries for later. Try to focus on the present. I’m here, you are here. And that’s all there is to know right now. C’mere.’ Derek pulled Stiles in a hug. The faint scent of lavender, he could smell it on Derek. It wasn’t the same smell that came from the flowers in his room. No, it was purer. In those strong arms, Stiles felt safe, his worries swept away like a tiny boat in the middle of a storming ocean.

‘Are you happy?’ Derek asked.

‘Yes.’ He snuffled.

After Stiles had calmed down enough to produce coherent sentence without tripping over his words, without tearing up, he began to apologize for those five long years he had practically ignored Derek.

‘But how did you figure it out so soon?’

‘Well, it helps not being as stubborn as you.’ Derek joked. ‘But I knew the moment you dissociated yourself from me. You weren’t exactly subtle. I wanted to say you had no need to worry, or fear. But then again, I had to give you that distance. To let you figure it out yourself. After a while, I did get annoyed with waiting for you to come to your senses, so I began to take my own distance. But lately, you haunted my thoughts more and more. And when Lydia said,’

‘Wait, Lydia, said something?’

‘Ah, should I not have mentioned that?’ Derek scratched his stubble. ‘Wait, she knows?’

‘No, no. It’s fine. You can trust her.’ Stiles dropped the topic of Lydia’s meddling altogether after that, and suggested they go downstairs, to have dinner. ‘I’m starving!’ he commented.  They walked side by side, almost no space between them. Their hands brushed against each other ever so slightly. They didn’t dare to hold hands or kiss. What if someone saw? No, they had to be cautious and alert. But sometimes, their index fingers hooked together for just a second. A guilty pleasure.

*

Dinner was extravagant. Talia had clearly outdone herself. Did she perhaps suspect something? The food consisted of potato-gratin with tender entrecotes with a side of tomatoes, cucumber, purple onion, and dandelion salad. The table was decorated luxuriously with a floral centrepiece.

‘It’s delicious.’ Stiles said.

‘It is.’ Their conversation had grown a bit stale, but perhaps that was due to the butler who refused to leave their side.

‘We should definitely go explore the woods again. It’s good for you stamina.’ Derek said, a cheeky grin and a cocky wink. He had to contain his laughter. Stiles had choked on a piece of potato because of the implication. A vivid flashback of their activities of this afternoon came to mind, together with a scarlet blush and a tight sensation in his pants.

The rest of the meal went by without too many implications of hot, steamy passion. Stiles did however take revenge by rubbing his foot, he still refused to wear shoes, up Derek’s leg, going up all the way, lingering between his thighs. Derek let out a low groan. The table-cloth hid his doings.

‘Are you okay, sir?’  The butler asked with a blank face.

‘Yes, just a stomach ache.’ He lied.

Stiles peeked out the window. ‘It’s a beautiful night. Do you want to go stargazing on the roof?’

‘Okay, but just give me a minute.’ Derek huffed.

*

The night was warm, the air still suffocating. Occasionally, there was a refreshing breeze but it failed helplessly in cooling the scorched earth. ‘So, I was wondering.’ The roof had a terrace and balcony, lounge chairs and a patio table. Yet, Derek and Stiles ignored those, and instead they were lying both on their backs, against the cold stone, gazing at the magnificent diamonds that were splattered on the vast firmament. ‘I’ve a day off tomorrow. Do you perhaps want to go out?’ Derek asked.

‘Go out? As in a little trip?’ Stiles interest peaked.

‘If you’d like that?’

‘Like? I’d love to! Did you have anything in mind?’

The beauty and sin of adolescent love. One moment, you’re worlds apart, the other moment you can’t even function properly without the other’s presence. A delicate film of ignorance veiled their eyes and minds.

‘Well, you said you wanted to go to London, correct? Maybe we can go there; visit the parks, maybe find a little gift for my mom and your dad. He does seem sad lately. Is he alright?’

‘I fear it’s his work. He barely has free time. Whatever he is working on, it is something big. But never mind that, I’d love to go with you to London. We can take one of my dad’s cars! You can drive, right?’ a mischievous grin. ‘But… London. I don’t know. There isn’t much privacy, the prying eye of the public, it disturbs me. Hey, do you want to go to Fairlight? I have a little cottage there. It’s in the middle of nowhere, there’s a small town nearby where you can get all the necessaries to live. That sounds fun too, no?’

‘It does.’ Derek mused. ‘As long as I am with you, I am on board with any plan you come up with.’

‘Even stealing the crown jewels?’ Stiles teased.

Derek laughed loud. ‘Yes,’ he snickered. ‘Even stealing the crown jewels.’

They were silent, enjoying each other’s presence.

‘The cottage was my mom’s.’ Stiles said after a while. ‘The cottage is a little vacation house near the sea. She used to go up there with my grandparents all the time. Now, it was abandoned. Dad refuses to go near it. Too many memories, he says. On my eighteenth birthday, I received the property. I’m sorry I didn’t invite you, then, by the way. I haven’t been up there though. Never really had the chance, never had someone to go there. I only want to take the people close to my heart there. Because of the meaning of the cottage.’

‘Because of your mom? The memories?’

‘Exactly. I miss her every day. On nights like these, I’d like to think she’s up there, somewhere.’ He pointed at the heavens. ‘One of the many stars. Watching over me. She promised. She always said I was her bright, little star. Now she’s mine.’

Derek rolled over to Stiles, gazed at him, taking in his slightly upturned nose, those big brown eyes, those sensitive lips.

‘You are precious.’ Derek said and then he softly kissed him. The first kisses were timid and shy, a little peck or nip. Testing the waters. Then, Derek opened his mouth a bit and licked Stiles’s lips. Stiles hummed. ‘So sweet,’ Derek moaned. It was a deep kiss, passion. It wasn’t sloppy like earlier. They took their time, experimenting a bit by sucking, biting, teasing each other. Derek drew some blood after biting a bit too hard. Stiles wanted more. Their lips met over and over again. Hard and rough, kind yet fervent. Underneath the moon, they soaked each other in. They felt so safe. Here, they were alone, whispers in the dark.

‘Hey,’ Stiles broke the kiss off, his face red and elbows scratched by the hard stone. ‘Do you want to take things to my bedroom?’

Derek replied by squeezing Stiles’s hand. ‘Ah, I’ll take that as a yes.’

*

Back in his room, door closed, Stiles slowly stripped out of his shirt and pants, a little seductive dance. He now only wore underpants, it was too warm for an undershirt anyway. Derek sat on his bed, legs spread apart, rubbing his crotch, biting his own lips. A hungry gaze, filled with lust, settled in his eyes, enjoying the show.

Stiles got down on his knees, and slowly crawled towards the older man. Their eyes never broke contact. Stiles rubbed his hands between Derek’s thighs, slowly massaging him. He gave little kisses near Derek’s own throbbing cock. Even through the fabric, he felt the kisses, the hot trickle of Stiles’s breath. Sighing, he grabbed a fistful Stiles’s hair and pressed him hard against his bulge. He then lifted Stiles’s head, hands on both his cheeks, and kissed him long. His stubble scraped Stiles chin, but he didn’t care. He greedily answered the kiss, desperately wanting more. Stiles moved down again and slowly unbuttoned Derek’s pants, finding pleasure in prolonging the moment, tantalizing Derek. He stopped, got up and sat on Derek’s lap, slowly moving his hips, pressing into Derek’s body.

‘Did you hear something?’ Derek suddenly said.

‘Don’t be silly. No one’s here.’ Stiles whispered.

Just as Stiles was about to pull his underwear, his father came in. No knock. Time stopped for a moment. For just a second it seemed as if everything was going to be fine. His father’s expression was frozen on the thoughtful look he had had when he pushed the door open. The clock resumed its ticking. His nostrils flared and his entire posture became rigid. His father’s eyes were the bitter tundra of Russia, Stiles had no time to react, or his father was already storming away.

‘No, Dad! Father, please wait. I can explain. Shit!’

Stiles rapidly gathered his clothes and put them on again, and ran after his father. Derek was right behind him, but kept his distance. He didn’t want to aggravate John even more.

The house, it was so warm, it was too hot. The thick air of summer. Their steps were so loud, as if each single footstep made the house quake. His throat was dry and hurt. He tried to swallow, but it was as if he lost all control of his body. He was cold and warm, he was shaking and sweating, and he had great trouble keeping up with the pace of his father. His cries fell on deaf ears. He descended the stairs two steps at a time, almost tumbling down.

 ‘Dad, stop! What are you going to do?’ Stiles was terrified, his father stood near the telephone.

‘Never, never would I have thought…’ the rage was uncontrollable.

‘I’ll make sure your _little friend_ gets drafted. Those militiamen will be drifting off into war soon and then you’ll be rid of that man.’ He began to dial. ‘Never…’ John’s movements were clumsy.

‘Dad, no! Please reconsider. It won’t happen again. I swear. Please. It was a mistake!’ John didn’t even look at his son. ‘And why do you keep saying there will be war? They’re just rumours.’ Stiles tugged his father’s arm.

‘Dad, it’s me. Stiles, your little boy.’ A weak smile. There were so many things he wanted to say, wanted to talk about. He tried to reason with his father, this wasn’t him at all. There was that overpowering stench of alcohol on his father’s breath. ‘Dad,’ his voice defeated, ‘have you been drinking?’

‘You bastard.’ A stinging slap. Derek, who stood near, barely containing his anger, took a step forward, but Stiles raised his hand, motioning he should stay away. This

Stiles tried everything just to keep him from leaving. Once father would disappear into the night, there would be no stopping his ravage on his and Derek’s life. Mr Stilinksi violently pushed him away. Stiles, with a hard smack, fell on the floor on his back, the air forcible pushed out of his lunges, wheezing. Derek hurriedly rushed to Stiles. The commotion had lured some spectators. A few servants peeked through keyholes or ajar doors.

 ‘Naïve child.’ His voice was full of rancour and hatred as he looked down at the two young men. ‘That the rage of war may see fit his punishment. As for you. You’re going to your grandparents in London. You’ll finish your medical studies at Cambridge when the time comes for you to return. You shall obey, if not, I shall call the police. I’ll tell them my son got raped by the pig that I call my servant. Who will they believe? A high-ranking official, or the poor, confused boy, who just got raped like some common whore, and his violator? I believe obeying my wishes will be the lesser evil here.’

‘You’re drunk, dad! He didn’t _rape_ me! Stop lying. I-,‘ another hard slap across the face. Stiles tried to stand his ground, he recovered swiftly from the hit and opened his mouth, but was cut off by his drunken father.

‘You shall listen to me.’ He bellowed. He turned his back to his son, and started to dial.

‘Derek,’ Stiles whispered, he refused to cry now, ‘Go to your mother. Explain what happened.’ Derek’s eyes were big and wild. ‘There is no other way. Better that she hears it from you. Tell her _everything_. Go!’ That was the last he saw of Derek.

*

And John Stilinksi’s wishes, but perhaps curses are more accurate, did come true, unfortunately. Stiles was sent off the very same evening his father caught him in Derek’s arms. Fortunately, there was a faint glimmer of hope. Before he was rudely shoved in the car to London, he secretly managed to give four sealed letters to Charles, the one servant whom he trusted. Charles had been his mother’s personal servant first. The letters, he had written them in a hurry when he was expected to pack his belongings and passed them to Charles when he was escorted downstairs by his father.

 What happened to Derek after he was sent off to London, he did not know. He did not know John had ordered Derek not to move a finger, threatening his family if he did. Derek’s hands were bound by invisible chains, his love for Stiles and his family was his Achilles’ heel. All he could was wait to be sent off to the militia. Derek’s letter of conscription came only two days later after Stiles’s exile to London.

One letter was sent to Lydia, informing of what had transgressed between him and his father, and Derek’s possible fate. It was a plea for help. Lydia was brilliant, a genius. Perhaps she saw a solution in this convoluted, chaotic mess. He also included his grandparent’s address together with the question that she would visit him as soon as possible.

The second letter was sent to Scott containing a vague description of what had happened. Derek had told him Scott was going to enlist. Stiles knew Scott better than anyone else, he would not be persuaded out of the army. So, he prayed to Scott, if he met Derek either in the training camps, on the field, wherever they would meet, that they would keep each other safe.

The third letter was for Talia. He apologized for everything. It was his fault he and Derek were caught. In sloppy writing, smeared with honest tears, he confessed his love for Derek, hoping that at least she would understand what he felt for Derek. He also enclosed the money he had stored in his mother’s treasure box and a key to the cottage in Fairlight, East Sussex. Stiles instructed Talia to flee the estate and take up residence there, near the coast, together with her daughters. He warned her that his father was not the same and he feared he would get even more destructive.

The final letter was addressed to Derek. It was the shortest letter of all. It contained only the three words he meant, and reserved for Derek, and Derek alone, together with his grandparents address and Lydia’s address and the address of the house in Fairlight.

It was chaos. He failed to see the stars, or the moon. He failed to see the faces of the people around him that stared at him when he left the mansion with his two suitcases: the servants who escorted him, his father, face stained red with the mark of alcohol. None of it got through. He only saw black. He only heard the rushing of his blood, the unsteady rhythm of his heart. 

Only the sound of the car’s door slamming shut roused him from that hazy void. Silent tears welled up in his eyes. The driver ignored him as they travelled the moonlit road. All he felt was abject horror. They never even got the chance to say goodbye.


End file.
